


Intermittent

by dramate



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Shadow Of Revan, Pre-Ziost, Undercover Shenanigans, chiss agent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramate/pseuds/dramate
Summary: “Fancy meeting you here,” comes rolling out of Theron's mouth like an accusation. He narrows his eyes, just enough to be plausible, and tucks his blaster away.Cipher Nine chuckles, quiet and husky and way too close to Theron’s ear for this to end well. “You weren’t expecting me?” he teases, “For shame, darling.”(In which some padawan go missing, someone has it out for Theron (again), and Cipher Nine is a smarmy little shit.)
Relationships: Male Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Theron Shan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1: A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> I've sort of always wanted to play around a little with the idea of Theron and the Imp agent having kind of a fun undercover dynamic going on. There's not really a whole lot of that in this chapter, but I'm working my way there! I haven't quite decided if I'm going to have my main agent's name come up in this story, but I might. He's pretty well neutral, just for the record.
> 
> If there's some interest for getting the rest of this edited and posted, please feel free to drop a comment or kudo. Most importantly, I hope that at least gives you a smile, especially in these times!

In retrospect, it was probably too much to ask for to get back into the swing of things after Yavin with a simple, straightforward op.

If it hadn’t been made abundantly clear yet that Theron had managed to tick off some high-ranking people with that whole alliance with Lana and _the_ Imperial spook of Imperial spooks, he’s pretty sure this would’ve been the memo. The intel is laughably bad. He knows roughly what he’s getting into before he even makes landfall. But, hey, go figure. If these pirates are crazy enough to not only try kidnapping _Jedi padawan_ but to apparently get away with it?

Not exactly the usual band of garden variety thugs.

That’s pretty obvious the second Theron starts trying to fish around for the best ways to get recruited. The handful of people who have actually heard of the pirates don’t know anything useful. It’s all comically exaggerated or just flat out contradictory.

The first week, being back in the field had felt pretty good though, even without much progress. It was a lot better to focus on that than moping around and staring _way_ too longingly at his private holo, where a certain Imperial’s personal frequency is tucked away. Cipher Nine hadn’t even put in a guest appearance in his dreams that week.

 _(Stars, that’s… really kind of pathetic, isn’t? Had he been_ proud _of that fact when he’d first thought it…?)_

After the second week, it’s just monotonous and more than a little frustrating. He goes to the local cantina to nurse a drink, listen for anything even vaguely useful, and to think over how he’s going to word his report so that it’s not embarrassingly empty.

He’s doing pretty good at the former, terrible at the middle, and increasingly decent at the latter when a figure slides way too easily into his personal space in the booth space next to him. He’s got his blaster pressed against the intruder’s side, hidden under the table, by the time recognition sets in.

Cipher Nine smiles coyly at him, lids half lowered over red eyes that give off the faintest light in the atmospheric shadows of the cantina. A pink tongue darts out to wet blue lips, looking for all intents and purposes like a subconscious tell when Theron is absolutely _sure_ it’s totally intentional. The most frustrating thing? It works, because he consciously has to drag his gaze back up.

“Fancy meeting you here,” comes rolling out of Theron’s mouth like an accusation. He narrows his eyes, just enough to be plausible, and tucks his blaster away.

Cipher Nine chuckles, quiet and husky and _way_ too close to Theron’s ear for this to end well. “You weren’t expecting me?” he teases, “For shame, darling.”

He’s switched accents from the one he usually runs around with.

(It’s not the same one Theron remembers him having first thing in the morning, when he’d groaned something like _“Five minutes more”_ in a slur of Basic and something else and tucked his face into the crook of Theron’s shoulder to avoid the light. He remembers the feeling of that dark blue hair between his fingers. Committed the whole thing as closely as possible to memory.

Theron has actively tried not to think too much about that one because that was just…

It was _real_. Too real. Especially for a guy like Theron.)

Theron gets the point. They’re being watched. He rolls his eyes and makes a show of playfully nudging the Chiss’ chest before he leans in. It’s not exactly an act when he feels some of the tension from the last week of frustration ease from his shoulders. Cipher isn’t exactly human-warm, but it’s close enough. One of Cipher’s arms settles around his shoulders.

“Didn’t keep you from anything, did I?” Theron asks casually, sipping at his drink.

Cipher has his own. Something aggressively pink that’s strong enough for Theron to smell where he sits. The agent hums a negative and swirls the fancy little umbrella inside, “Nothing I couldn’t stand to miss for you.”

Theron smiles like he’s playing a game of hard to get they’ve played enough times to know how it’s going to end. They haven’t, but it gives him the plausible excuse to look around at the other patrons. No cameras that he can clock. Probably bugs though. Nothing really stands out at the moment from the other patrons and staff.

Theron sighs like he’s finally giving in to the careful, dexterous hand rubbing nonsense into his shoulder and brushes a teasing kiss against Cipher’s jaw. Chiss don’t have visible pupils to watch dilate, sure, but he sure picks up that tiny catch in Cipher’s breath. “Yours or mine?” Easy enough to be misinterpreted paired with the gesture.

Cipher’s arm slides from his shoulders to his waist. Theron isn’t sure how much of that look is played up for the situation and how much is real. He knows it’s at least some of both, and that's a heady thing. “Mine,” Cipher suggests, tone thick with intent.

Then tension is back, but Theron is very good at hiding it. He’s been on Cipher’s ship before—that’s not the problem. It’s the way there’s just a little too much grimness in the way he looks at Theron. The way he’s just a bit too definitive when he says it.

 _Sith spit_. He knows something, and Theron isn’t going to like it.

Theron paints on a grin he doesn’t feel. He pushes lightly against Cipher’s armored chest, letting the touch linger suggestively, “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Cipher laughs softly and presses a fond kiss to Theron’s hair, “I’ve missed you.”

Theron suddenly has to fight the knot in his throat because that’s… _It’s an act_. They’re _acting_ to avoid detection on a _job_. It’s not _real_. 

The Chiss slides out of his seat and throws back the rest of his drink in one go. Theron tries not to watch the length of his throat and instead focuses on estimating how well buzzed Chiss are able to function. In all likelihood, he’s probably got a decent reason for being that rash. Might even have a work around. It’s hard to make it to status as the boogieman of the Empire without knowing having a few tricks up the ol’ sleeve, after all.

Cipher smiles, all seduction and charm, and holds out a hand, “Shall we?”

Theron, against his better judgement, takes it.

Cipher’s ship is still as unassuming on the outside as it was when Theron last saw it. It’s decidedly emptier than it had been on the trip to Yavin though.

As soon as the Chiss keys the door closed, he eyes Theron and raises a brow like he’s read the thoughts right off the human’s face. “The others are on shore leave.”

Theron raises a brow. “Uh… huh. Right.”

Cipher shakes his head fondly and coaxes Theron into the common area. “If you must know,” he says, sliding smoothly to sit back against his couch, all long lines and projected decadence, “Kaliyo demanded I drop her off before I arrived. Apparently she finds voyeurism less than satisfying unless she’s invited. The others then conspicuously decided they had more important places to be after that. I haven’t the slightest idea why...”

Theron knows his face runs through a whole host of weird, almost-expression before he settles on something flat and unimpressed, “Yeah, not a clue why that might be.”

The Chiss stills, suddenly serious, “Someone in the SIS has quite the death wish for you, you know.”

Theron sighs. “Not really surprising.” He’s not. Surprised, that is. More disheartened than anything. He'd hoped that he'd proved his allegiance with the whole Rishi thing, but, hey. There were always going to be people who viewed anyone who'd spent over a year with a Sith as a potential traitor no matter why he did it. He decides to stop hovering awkwardly in the middle of Cipher’s ship and sits down on the couch. There’s an awkward moment where he wants to lean closer, but it’s harder here—where they’re real people again and not playing at anything. It seems weird to give in when they've technically already said their goodbyes. Cipher watches him, something hard to read on his face, but doesn’t push him. “So what do you know?”

“Your anonymous tip appears to have come from the pirates themselves. Your handlers should have known as much,” Cipher says, and… yeah. That’s anger in his expression. For Theron. That… should not be getting Theron all hot and bothered. Nope. Not in the slightest. It’s just… people usually just move on instead of… _anything else_. “They want an SIS agent. I don’t know why.”

Theron raises a brow, “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t going to tell me how, exactly, you got your hands on classified Republic intel?”

Cipher smirks and lifts a finger to his lips. “Magicians and secrets, darling,” he purrs.

Theron rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” The thought’s been rattling around in his head since Cipher showed up. He keeps his eyes on the Chiss, looking for the few tells he knows. “So what’s your angle?”

Dark brows lift. Amusement plays on those unfairly handsome features, “I can’t keep an eye on my favorite Republic spy?”

Really, if the bland stare Theron shoots him comes across at all like he wants it to, Cipher is getting off too easily. The best way to out-play Cipher Nine, Theron has realized, is to give him a reason to get serious. “What? You don’t trust me?” He keeps his tone purposefully light--taunting--like he doesn’t care about the answer.

(He does, and that’s a major problem.)

The edges of Cipher’s lips turn down. The coy humor is gone. It’s about the biggest tell he’s going to get. On somebody else, he might call it disappointed. He tries not to read too much into it. Right up until Cipher opens his mouth and says, “On the contrary: I trust you too much, Theron.”

That…

Wow.

Okay.

Theron swallows and reminds himself that this is the same guy who’s almost as good as Theron at dodging questions and implications, but…

“Then tell me what you want here,” Theron counters. Whatever… _feelings_ he’s dealing with right now? They’re not going to rescue the three missing padawan. He shrugs, “Maybe we can work something out where we both get what we want.”

Cipher nods and seems to melt back into his seat. The way he holds himself, it’d be easy to mistake him for a diplomat—always dignified when he can be. Theron wonders how much of that is him and how much of that he had to learn to not be entirely trampled by the will of Sith. “Very well,” he says, tone clipped and tense like he’s suddenly as uncomfortable as Theron feels, “Officially, I’m leading Kaliyo and SCORPIO to complete a mission halfway across the galaxy. Lana and I both agreed that she'll vouch for me should it come to it.” Amusement tugs at his lips. “Though I was also told she would leave me to the akk dogs, as it were, if I disclosed that last bit. Oops.”

For the second time in a handful of minutes, Theron is stunned silent. He’s here just for Theron…? And Lana’s in on it?

The Chiss tilts his head. A smug-looking smirk tugs at his lips, but there’s tension around his eyes that undercuts any real amusement. “Does that surprise you?” He says it like it shouldn’t.

Theron purposefully starts looking around the room instead. “You actually know I managed to do my job just fine for a long time before I met you, right?” he quips instead.

“Naturally,” Cipher replies smoothly. There’s a pause while Theron tries to work out whether he should be annoyed or not. Probably not. There’s no real reason for the Chiss to butter him up, and he’s definitely heard the man mock people he sees as grossly incompetent at key jobs. He's still trying to work it out when he watches Cipher look away, fists clenched in his lap, “But I also understand the alienation and paranoia of being unable to trust your superiors.” 

What Theron wants to say is that the Republic isn’t like the Empire. They have rules and oversight, and no one has the absolute authority that the Sith have. But he’s been in this game way too long to be that idealistic, even before the whole Revanite thing.

(He wants to ask who broke Cipher’s trust so badly it took him nearly a year to be in the same room with Lana and Theron without eyeing weapons and exists. He’s got an idea, though. From the way Cipher is as close to openly hostile as he ever gets to any Sith who isn’t Lana to the way his eyes had narrowed and his jaw clenched back on Manaan when he’d realized Theron was SIS.)

But, see, here’s the thing. Theron is a good spy, but he’s got a whole… _thing_ about this sort of… _thing_.

So he’s not exactly surprised when the dry, skeptical “Okay... You just figured you’d show up and risk ticking off the Dark Council to what? Be my backup?” falls right out his mouth.

He doesn’t have much warning before blue, calloused fingers cup his jaw and gently coax his head towards Cipher. He’s always liked Cipher’s hands—the way he moves them with a kind of effortless grace. What he doesn’t like is the very real frown looking back at him. “Yes,” Cipher says flatly, lowering his hand now that he’s got Theron’s attention, “That’s exactly what I mean to do.”

Theron stares. He doesn’t really know what else to do. He’s been in this situation before on jobs, but it wasn’t _real_. He likes to think he knows Cipher well enough at this point to be able to tell if he’s lying, and this definitely doesn’t look like that. The guy’s as blunt as they come when he’s not playing a role, and Theron had made it a point to learn what he looks like when he's playing a role. 

He clears his throat to stall for enough time to reengage his higher thinking processes and crush the annoying warmth in his chest. “ _Right_ ,” comes out just cracked enough to be embarrassing, “Well. Sorry to tell you, but I don’t have any real leads right now.”

Cipher shrugs, “Between the two of us, I suspect we’ll think of something.”

There’s something about the way the Chiss looks at him that has Theron’s heart in his throat. It’s not all that different from Yavin, back at the shuttle when they were supposed to be saying their goodbyes. Theron tears his eyes from Cipher’s face and gets up because he suddenly doesn't trust himself not to do anything stupid. “Guessing you’ve gone through a few passcodes since last time?” he asks, heading for the section of the ship with Cipher’s fancy computers.

“And you’ll make short work of the encryption, I assume,” Cipher replies, way too amused. Which probably means he’s already deleted anything the SIS might find useful. Fair enough. He stands up off the couch and stretches. Judging by the amusement on his face, he catches the way Theron’s eyes dip to the sliver of stomach that’s momentarily exposed by that move. Coy bastard. “So long as you’re inside this ship, there's no point in worrying about being caught unaware. Do try to get some rest tonight?”

And he starts walking down the hall like letting an SIS agent run loose on his very fancy Imperial spy ship is just a thing he does on weekends. Theron scowls at his back as he disappears toward the rear of the ship.

Theron spends half the night reminding himself that Cipher is well-trained to know exactly what Theron wants to hear because Theron is trained to do the same. He spends the other half trying to work out if there's any good way of running off with a computer system that weighs at least twice as much as he does when this is all over. 

(He ignores the little voice that tells him he’s definitely not pretending, though, so maybe Cipher isn’t either.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! The good news is that the last chapter is already completely drafted out and shouldn't take nearly as long. 
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe and that you can maybe get a little joy out of this during these these stressful days.

Theron does actually make good on Cipher’s urge to get some sleep. Sort of. He just so happens to nod off in the Chiss’ overly comfortably computer chair. He decides, stretching out his stiff limbs, that if Cipher says a word about it, he’s going to ask him why the damn thing is made so easy to sleep on anyway.

…not that he really thinks that’s going to be a whole… _thing_ , though. It’s just a weird thought that it won’t. Most of Theron’s flings had no idea how to even start adjusting to the quirks of the spy boyfriend—if they even had any idea what he actually did for a living in the first place. It’s all fun and glamour until Theron has to turn into a ghost for months without a word or when he’s up three days in a row on stims and willpower to keep some random dissidents from assassinating a key senator. That awful, tempting whisper in the back of his mind reminds him that Cipher wouldn’t have to adjust because that’s his reality, too. That much is obvious from the way he feels those red eyes shift over him, knowing but silent, and then slide off while they move around the small kitchen area for breakfast that morning.

Now _that’s_ a dangerous thought.

“I take it you enjoyed my toys?” Cipher says, settling down at the table with a cup of caf and a datapad.

Theron shrugs, “If by ‘enjoy’, you mean ‘spent half the night breaking your encryptions’, yeah. I guess so.”

Cipher leans forward enough to catch Theron’s eye. A smirk is on that unfairly handsome face as he purrs, “Why, Agent Shan… If you wanted to get into my databanks, all you had to do was ask nicely.”

Theron’s brows raise slowly to his hairline, “Oh wow. _Really?_ Those lines actually work for you? Or were you hoping I’d collapse from second-hand embarrassment?”

Cipher falls back comfortably against his chair with a quiet laugh. It’s disarmingly charming and _terribly_ unfair. “I suppose that would depend on the intent, wouldn’t it?” he shrugs, clearly inviting the obvious follow-up question.

Part of Theron doesn’t want to ask it. This is already too close to flirting with danger. Literally. _Again_. But, well… He knows himself well enough to know he’s got a _bad_ habit of chasing the unreachable. What’s one more disaster on top of the trash compactor of his personal relationships? “Yeah? So what’s your intent here?” he shoots back, “Besides the second-hand embarrassment, I mean.”

Cipher props his cheek up on his fist. Theron gets the sense that he’s being watched intently, but it’s always a bit harder to read Cipher when he’s like this. “You seem tense,” the Chiss says, pleasant voice pitched a bit softer and meant to relax, “After you set foot on my ship, it was more exaggerated.”

It takes Theron a whole fifteen seconds longer than it should have to catch the undercurrent. Theron has been tense… so Cipher tried making him laugh.

 _Kriff_.

If Cipher were anyone else… SIS instead of Imperial…

Theron frowns. Wouldn’t matter. He’d still come up with some reason to push Cipher away. Whatever that excuse ended up being just wouldn’t be as solid as _kissing the Commander of Sith Intelligence is a Very Bad Idea._

Well. Kissing the commander of Sith Intelligence… _again_.

Dammit.

“You know this is a bad idea, right?” flies out of Theron’s mouth. He doesn’t really regret it though. It’s the truth.

Cipher shrugs, unbothered, “I’ve been told that I’m full of them. Repeatedly. I find it rather works for me, if the promotions are anything to go by. But if it bothers you…?”

Oh, it bothers Theron. It bothers Theron a _lot_. Problem is, it doesn’t bother him in the way it should. He opens his mouth to shut it down right there. He really does. He’s just not totally sure why, instead of ‘ _Yeah, it bothers me because we’re probably going to have to kill each other one day’_ coming out, it’s instead “So, here’s a thought: didn’t you used to be the Red Blade? Or did you make that up?”

Cipher’s grin looks a little too much like a Nexu for Theron’s comfort.

* * *

Thing is, when Theron has a plan like this, most people stare at him like he’s really lost it this time. He’s pretty sure the fact that he’s still breathing should be all the record he actually needs on how good he is at thinking on his toes, but, hey, that’s people. Never quite as flexible as Theron sometimes needs them to be.

Cipher though? Cipher just hauls a full suit of scuffed, red armor out of… _somewhere_ on his ship. Theron is _not_ jealous. Because that would be unreasonable. The same sort of unreasonable as, y’know, _casually hauling out your random suit of spare “infamous pirate” armor_.

“…should I ask if that’s a duplicate or the real deal?” Theron says dryly, eyeing the Chiss as he pulls on a gauntlet.

Cipher rolls his eyes. Probably. He makes the face Theron associates with a Chiss eye roll, anyway. “Oh? Would it bother you in the least if it were the latter?” he counters with a knowing, playful undercurrent. His brow furrows as he fiddles with a sticky wrist attachment. “If you must know, the original Blade was quite a bit taller than me… and suddenly in possession of several blaster burns, last I saw.”

…Well, that’s definitely ominous, but Cipher’s right. No matter what morals Theron wants to maintain in his line of work, he isn’t one to question it either; they’ve both done far worse than steal iconic armor off a dead man. He’s also not one to question his own legs, apparently, because he’s suddenly standing in front of Cipher, batting his hands away from the gauntlet so he can fit it on instead. It’s like something out of a cheesy holo. With the thick material of Cipher’s glove, he doesn’t even come close to his skin, but still…

He’s been a spy long enough to have some weird thoughts about unnecessarily dressing someone up for going under cover. Not that he’s ever really had the chance before. That one-off with Jonas had mostly involved a lot of awkward dodging and both of them looking for the quickest way out of the door while avoiding eye contact for the next few days. 

“You’d think, as hooked on gadgets as you are, you’d know how to do this…” Theron mutters, fitting the seals together. He only notices his mistake when he looks up, eye-level and way too close to red eyes and a disarmingly soft smile. “…You’re a bastard. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Cipher pats the back of Theron’s hand, suddenly all amusement and swagger. “Constantly.”

* * *

It’s really not a terrible plan. At least, it’s not the worst Theron’s ever had. It even works at first, too. Cipher puts up a hell of a good show dragging him out of the ship in full armor, and Theron gives one right back, playing like he’s terribly offended to have been double-crossed by a lover.

Judging by the looks he’s not getting, this kind of thing happens all the time in this backwater port city. Theron isn’t surprised; he’s already expected as much from how nobody was going to talk to an outsider with no obvious reputation. Judging by the looks Cipher _,_ in his flashy red armor is getting, they’ve definitely heard of the Blade.

Good publicity for a guy who’s supposedly rarely seen in person.

Cipher marches him along with a heavy grip on Theron’s bound arms back into the cantina from the night before. Theron yanks hard against his grip, trusting him to hold tight and make it look good. He does, naturally, without holding back and immediately looking for some credible excuse to soften up the act in a way that’ll blow their cover, and that’s…

Yup, that’s _still_ weird. Good to know there are a few universal constants.

“Good luck, _Blade_ ,” Theron sneers, “Already tried this place. ‘No pirates here’.” He makes a show of trying to pull harder, like he’s increasingly desperate to get away, despite his bravado. It gives him a good excuse to get eyes on everyone in the bar as quickly as possible.

Cipher ignores him and pulls him toward a back room as the message indicated. The barkeep just gives him a nod, which means “the Blade’s” little message from the night before was received loud and clear. Time to figure out if they bought it or not.

There’s a heavily armed Rodian, a human, and a _Wookiee_ , of all things, in the small back room. So a fist fight is out of the question. They’ll have to retreat if it comes to that. Theron clocks two exits besides the door that leads back into the cantina. Judging by the port layout, he’d guess the second door and the closed window lead toward a set of private docking bays.

“Well, well…” the Rodian hums, getting up from behind a desk, of all things, to slink around to the front and lean back against it. Theron has to give him points for aesthetic, at least. If it were him, he’d want that desk between him and Cipher. “If it isn’t the Red Blade… You’re a difficult man to find, as I understand it.”

Cipher hums, filtered through the processor in his helmet, “Not so difficult… for the right circles.” He’s swapped accents, _again_ , to a long, lazy drawl. Theron is not even a _little_ jealous, thanks. “I hear you’re pretty elusive yourself.”

The Rodian doesn’t look happy with that jab, but Theron’s seen enough underworld dick measuring contests to know the distinct lack of blasters being pulled means they’re still fairly safe for now. “Since when did our little outfit qualify as ‘the right circles’ for you?”

“It’s not,” Cipher replies, yanking Theron closer to the space between him and the Rodian. Theron yelps and hisses, really playing up the mildly forceful tug. “Just so happens I have a backstabbing SIS spook on my hands. Thought he could bat his pretty eyelashes just right and slip into _my_ outfit. Heard you were in the market for one. Interested?”

Theron lets some of his actual incredulity slide onto his face, _“’Pretty eyelash—_ ‘”

Cipher’s warning signal is the agreed upon squeeze of Theron’s forearm. He’s got just enough time to believably shift his cheek and brace so that the force of getting shoved onto the desk is minimal. “ _Enough_ ,” Cipher warns, “The professionals are talking.”

Theron moves to try another tactic, but there’s a sudden warning press of a blaster at his spine. He forces himself to tense instead of relax. Leave it to Cipher to figure out an excuse to have a weapon out. The position also would make it easy for Theron to use the desk as cover, as long as the Rodian is out of commission, which he assumes is the plan if things go bad fast.

“Now,” Cipher drawls sweetly, “You were saying.”

There’s some silence. Judging by the way the human is eyeing the Rodian, he’s guessing there’s some silent communication going on. Finally, the tension breaks when the Rodian slowly measures out, “Alright. Wait here with Shoor. We’ll get the boss. She’ll talk business.”

Cipher’s thumb carefully presses twice in warning, but Theron’s already clocked it, too.

There’s a good chance they’re suspicious. The worst part on ops like this is that there’s nothing they can do about it at the moment other than to play it out and see what happens. At least they’re getting somewhere.

“Alright,” Cipher drawls, “Though I don’t think I need to warn you about what happened last time someone tried to cheat me.”

The Rodian waves him off and collects the human on the way out, leaving one very tall, very armed Wookiee in the way of the door to fold his arms over his chest and glare at them. It’d do no good to break out now, anyway. The alarm would be up in an instant, and they don’t actually know for sure which ships belongs to this outfit, much less where the kids are. If they move without getting at least one of them onboard, even if they catch the pirates, they'll have no idea where the padawan are. 

Once the two close the door behind them, Cipher gives Theron a warning for show and lets him stand back up again. Better position if they suddenly have to make a break for it. There’s a tense few minutes spent in silence.

Theron’s implants catch it around the time the Wookiee starts to growl. Cipher stiffens just after, which means he’s either already feeling the effects of the gas pumping through the air, or whatever the Chiss range of smell is can pick it up.

“Vents,” Theron warns.

Cipher is already moving. A press of a button on his gauntlet has the magnetic cuffs dropping off Theron’s wrists. A blaster is shoved into his hands while Cipher takes his first shot at the Wookiee, who’s now roaring furious obscenities at what appears to be a security camera while beating on the second door hard enough to rattle the inner mechanisms. He roars louder when a blaster bolt catches his arm and turns his attention—and his bowcaster—at the pair of them.

Theron quickly shoves the desk over the tucks down behind it. It won’t last long, and he’s already starting to get lightheaded, but it’s _something_.

“Sedative,” Theron adds when Cipher tucks down beside him, “With the implants, I’ve got a few minutes. What do you wanna bet the doors are locked?”

Cipher is blinking too fast. His breathing is already ragged. His grip on his blaster has his knuckles turning a pale gray. “Plan B, then,” he mutters, leaning up to lay down enough fire to keep the Wookiee off them. The big guy isn’t doing much better. The yelling probably isn’t helping, and the roars get quieter and more slurred… if Shyriiwook could even get slurred in the first place. At least the bowcaster shots are clumsy enough they're only pinned down instead of in immediate danger of being hit. 

Small miracles.

“Do we even _have_ a plan B?” Theron gripes, furiously trying to counteract the drugs with stims from his implants, “Because I don’t remember talking about a plan B.” He's well aware plan B is the part where they just sort of improvise, but arguing helps keep him awake and hopefully gives Cipher something to focus on. 

The Wookiee goes down. As soon as Theron hears it, he grabs Cipher’s arm and hauls the man up to his feet. Cipher stumbles in the single least graceful show Theron has ever seen from him, but he keeps moving. Theron gets them to the door. It’s remotely locked. Go figure.

 _Dammit_.

“Plan B…?” Cipher slurs, leaning against the wall. His legs buckle, and he ends up sliding down along it. “We did want on their ship…”

Theron doesn’t bother wasting time snarking at him. He manages to crack the door as the dots in his eyes eat up the last of his peripheral vision. The door slides open, fresh air pours in, but it’s already too late. Cipher slips out of Theron's grip and crashes back to the floor, and Theron is just about to join him.

Not to mention the whole compliment of armed pirates standing there waiting on them. "Well, well..." a tall woman, armed to the teeth, eyes cipher, thoroughly unimpressed, "Last time I saw you, _Blade_ , you were taller." 

“ _Kriff_ ,” Theron has time to mutter right before he collapses.


End file.
